


maybe i'm just in love

by xxrisque



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, also this is about 10+ years after the Battle of Hogwarts so everything's sort of back to normal, some mentions of actual Harry Potter characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a cold Monday morning towards the end of November when Grantaire finds himself sprawled out on the grass beside the Black Lake, staring up at the sky. The ground is just starting to speckle with snow, and if he were being honest with himself, he’d admit that he was actually getting quite cold now, given that he’s been lying here for upwards of two hours.</p><p>Someone clears their throat above him, and Grantaire turns his head to squint up at the newcomer. It’s Combeferre, his blue and black robes billowing out behind him in the wind, two textbooks hugged to his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe i'm just in love

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be short and sweet and suddenly it ended up clocking in at over 5K and I don't know how.
> 
> also, some very minor spoilers for the epilogue of Deathly Hallows, but I'm assuming everyone has read/seen it by now.
> 
>    
>  ~~also there's every possibility that this might end up as a verse so there's that~~

It’s a cold Monday morning towards the end of November when Grantaire finds himself sprawled out on the grass beside the Black Lake, staring up at the sky. The ground is just starting to speckle with snow, and if he were being honest with himself, he’d admit that he was actually getting quite cold now, given that he’s been lying here for upwards of two hours.

Someone clears their throat above him, and Grantaire turns his head to squint up at the newcomer. It’s Combeferre, his blue and black robes billowing out behind him in the wind, two textbooks hugged to his chest.

“You weren’t in Defence Against The Dark Arts.” He comments, raising an eyebrow and looking at the Gryffindor over his glasses. “Jehan kept asking after you.”

“Did he?” Grantaire doesn’t move, but closes his eyes against the brightness of the sky. He hears Combeferre sigh and there’s a thud as he drops his textbooks to the grass. When Grantaire opens his eyes again, Combeferre is sitting beside him, legs crossed and with a copy of _Numerology and Grammatica_ open in his lap.

“You should probably talk to him soon. He seems worried.” Combeferre replies sagely, flicking through the book absently. Grantaire drags himself up to rest on his elbows and surveys the other boy with a curious look in his eyes.

“How come you’re here?”

“I figure you don’t want to be on your own right now, to be honest. And I wouldn’t want to leave you alone to freeze to death. Or get eaten by the Giant Squid.”

Grantaire laughs humorlessly, sitting up properly and pulling his robes tighter around himself.

“What about everyone else?”

“Enjolras and Courfeyrac have Muggle Studies, Joly has Transfiguration homework to finish, Marius is busy mooning over Cosette, Jehan and Éponine are in Divination -or they should be, but I dare say they’re hiding in the North Wing somewhere and fretting about you- and Feuilly should be in Alchemy. I haven’t seen Bahorel or Bossuet today.” Combeferre lists easily, barely even looking up from his textbook as he speaks. “I’d ask what’s wrong, but I’m quite certain you’d just lie and say it’s nothing.”

Grantaire scoffs, but doesn’t deny the fact and lies back on the grass again. Combeferre watches him move and cocks his head slightly as if he’s confused.

“Is this about the fact that it’s almost Christmas?”

Grantaire stays silent.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre continues with a soft sigh, “you know you can talk to us, any of us. I know our situations are all different, but Jehan’s Muggleborn too and-”

“That’s just it, isn’t it? We all come from different backgrounds but I’m the only one whose family threw me out when they found out I was a wizard. Jehan’s parents love him even more for it! And the rest of you, most of you Purebloods from long lines of Purebloods, or Halfbloods with a friendly, accepting Muggle parent, you have no idea! How am I supposed to talk to any of you when you all just-” Grantaire cuts himself off and buries his hands in his hair. “None of you understand, and I’m sorry, but I just can’t-”

“That’s fine.” Combeferre gets to his feet and picks up his books. “But if you won’t talk to me, then talk to Feuilly. Talk to _someone_ , please. That’s all I ask. I’ll see you in Potions.”

He leaves quickly, tugging the sleeves of his robes up his arms as he goes. Grantaire frowns after him and eventually pulls himself to his feet, straightening the red and gold tie that hangs crooked around his neck and beginning the lonely walk back up to the castle.

He happens across Joly in the Entrance Hall, and the diminutive Ravenclaw is reading hurriedly through an Ancient Runes essay. He dodges him carefully and ducks into the Great Hall. Marius is there, talking excitedly to Cosette, and the Hufflepuff boy waves exuberantly when he spots Grantaire.

“Hey, ‘Taire.” Marius grins when the other boy sits down next to him. “Have you met Cosette? Isn’t she lovely?”

Grantaire stares blankly at him, and Cosette rolls her eyes at him affectionately, turning back to her parchment and tapping her quill thoughtfully against the paper.

Feuilly and Bahorel appear then, seemingly let out of their Alchemy class early to research. Feuilly settles himself next to Grantaire and immediately starts finishing a sketch of a Porlock for his Care of Magical Creatures class next period. Grantaire just watches him, and Bahorel and Marius strike up a conversation about how stupidly thick their Arithmancy textbooks are.

Feuilly doesn’t have a family, Grantaire knows that much from summers spent together living and working in the Leaky Cauldron. He isn’t even overly sure of his blood status as a result of never having known his parents, and suddenly Grantaire is reminded of Combeferre’s earlier words.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Grantaire asks quietly, and Feuilly looks up from his parchment with curiosity in his eyes. “Later, I mean, not now.”

“Sure,” Feuilly replies, turning back to his work, “is everything alright?”

“I’m not sure.”

Fifteen minutes later, Feuilly and Bahorel leave for their class and Cosette drags both Marius and Grantaire out of their seats and forces them down to their Potions classroom. Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Joly are all already there, and Enjolras is loudly extolling the virtues of electricity, and bemoaning the fact that the wizarding world still prefers candles. Courfeyrac has his head against the wall with his eyes closed, groaning every time Enjolras starts up a new sentence. Combeferre and Joly are steadfastly ignoring the both of them, instead disputing rune translations and meanings.

Their professor appears and ushers them inside, and it’s with a distinct level of dread that Combeferre suddenly realizes what they’re studying today. He steps over the threshold and is hit by an overpowering smell of new books, the outdoors after rain, the soft scent of lily-of-the-valley and something he is shocked to recognize as the unmistakable aroma of Grantaire’s oil paints. He stiffens noticeably, and Enjolras looks at him, bemused.

Grantaire, who up until now had been meandering into the classroom behind Joly and Marius, catches a sniff of mulled wine, fresh baked bread, morning dew and something he just about identifies as Combeferre’s cologne. He freezes just before the back row of desks, and Joly turns to look at him.

“Are you okay, Grantaire?” He asks with concern, and the Gryffindor boy nods his head.

“I’m fine,” he says firmly, running a hand through his hair, “just –the smell, you know?”

“Ah.” Joly smiles almost knowingly. “I get brewing coffee and fresh mint.”

Grantaire stays frozen at the back of the room while their professor talks them through the finer points of brewing Amortentia and the risks involved, before asking a few of them what they smell and setting them off to study the history of the potion. Éponine slides into the room twenty minutes late and hisses that she was worried about him, but Grantaire doesn’t say a word. Instead, he stares at the back of Combeferre’s head for the better part of the hour and disappears off to his Transfiguration class as soon as he gets the chance.

He’s blessed with a merciful free period after his class lets out (he’d spent the entire hour trying to conjure birds and had failed miserably, producing only a few sad, singed feathers) and finds Bossuet in the Great Hall. The seventh year is puzzling over a Divination textbook and sighing intermittently.

“Hey,” He says, looking up when Grantaire drops heavily onto the bench opposite him, “bad day?”

Grantaire shrugs, and leans forward to rest his forehead on the table.

“Where’s everyone else?” Bossuet asks after a minute or two of silence, Grantaire’s grumbling muffled by the wood of the table. He looks up after a moment to answer the older boy.

“They’re in Charms.”

“Ah, yeah. I forgot there’s still classes on now.” Bossuet smiles weakly. “Are you coming to the meeting tonight?”

“Maybe. I’ve got Astronomy at midnight and honestly, I’m not sure I can be bothered with both.”

“Enjolras will never let you hear the end of it if you skip either of them.” Bossuet laughs, looking up from his book again. “So really, it’s a lose-lose situation.”

Grantaire just groans and puts his head back on the table.

He drags himself to the meeting in the end, after Enjolras had caught him trying to nap in their dormitory and had kicked his bedpost until he got up again. By the time they’ve grabbed Musichetta from the common room, where she’s telling a raucous story about Quidditch to a group of captivated first years, and make it to the Room of Requirement, the rest of the group are already there.

“Why do we need to keep this here? It’s unnerving.” Joly shudders as the three of them enter the room.

“Enjolras worships her, that’s why. And she’s kind of hot, I guess.” Courfeyrac pipes up. He’s sitting at the long table in the centre of the room, legs kicked up onto the table and throwing a ball into the air and catching it again.

“Did I tell you about the time he met her? His parents work in the Ministry and cross paths with her sometimes, so they introduced us to her. I thought he was going to cry. Then he wouldn’t shut up about it for an entire month.” Combeferre rolls his eyes affectionately, looking to Joly. “I agree it’s a little odd, but I wouldn’t move it. Wouldn’t want to provoke him.”

“I’ll have you know that Hermione is a perfectly acceptable role model for our organization.” Enjolras barks from the doorway, marching into the room and standing at the head of the table with his arms folded.

“Well done,” Bahorel grumbles from the side of the room, “now you’ve set him off.”

Predictably, nothing gets done all night, and everyone resorts to attempting to finish their homework while Enjolras rants and raves about how Hermione Weasley is a ‘truly magnificent woman and marvelous example to us all.’

“You wanted to talk to me?” Feuilly grabs Grantaire’s arm when, two and a half hours later, everyone makes their excuses and head for their common rooms. Grantaire turns and looks at him, and when he’s sure everyone else is out of earshot, he nods.

“Yeah. It’s nothing serious, though –just blood status insecurity, you know?”

“You know no one cares about that, right?” Feuilly replies, raising his eyebrows and ushering Grantaire to a seat. “Least of all these guys. I know a lot of them are Purebloods but people don’t really acknowledge their blood status anymore, not now the laws have changed. Christ knows no one here gives a crap about it.”

“I know, it’s just sometimes there’s a lot of baggage that comes with coming from a family of dickhead Muggles.” Grantaire sighs, ruffling his hair. Feuilly reaches over and squeezes his arm. “And it’s just worse with it getting near to Christmas, everyone’s going home to play happy families with the Ministry officials they call parents or the cute, _proud_ Muggles that support them and I suppose I’ve just reached a point where I can’t really deal with it.”

Feuilly stays silent and instead hugs him tight.

“If you want, we could both go back to the Leaky Cauldron this Christmas? I know Hannah and Neville would love to have us, they’ve said as much, and it’ll get you away from the castle for a while.”

“No, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I couldn’t ask _them_ to do that.” Grantaire shakes his head lightly. “I’ll be fine. I’ve spent my last five Christmases here, what’s one more?”

He laughs weakly, and Feuilly embraces him with one arm. Grantaire rests his head against his shoulder and sighs heavily.

When Feuilly makes it back to the Ravenclaw common room, Marius and Courfeyrac appear to have snuck inside, and Jehan is carefully writing poetry up the latter’s arm with a delicate hand. Marius is talking to Cosette about Charms, his eyes wide and wistful. Combeferre is sitting on Courfeyrac’s other side, frowning at a sheet of parchment in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Courfeyrac is asking as Feuilly walks in.

“It’s nothing, just a letter from my dad. Mum’s been in an accident, and she’s fine, but she’s been brought home.” Combeferre replies, his voice flat.

“Oh my god,” Jehan pulls back from Courfeyrac to lean around him and look at Combeferre, “what happened?”

“Something with an old jinx on a tomb, he said. He checked her out, she seems shaken but okay, but he took her in to St. Mungo’s anyway.” Combeferre folds up the parchment and sets it on the floor beside his feet. “It comes with being a Curse Breaker, I suppose. The work’s dangerous.”

Jehan gets up from the blue chaise longue and moves to hug him tightly. Courfeyrac joins in, smudging the ink on his arm but squeezing Combeferre’s waist tight anyway. Joly looks up from his position on the floor in front of the fire and leans over to playfully hug his friend’s legs. Marius and Cosette glance over and, sensing an opportunity, join in and attempt to wrap their arms around all four of their friends. Feuilly just shakes his head and laughs, leaning over the back of the chaise longue to hug Combeferre around his shoulders.

“I spoke to Grantaire,” he mumbles quietly, and the sixth year turns his head to look at him, “but I don’t know what good it did.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre replies sincerely, “I’ll try and talk to him in Astronomy tonight.”

And so, three hours later, Combeferre finds himself standing uselessly on top of the Astronomy tower, waiting. Courfeyrac has fallen asleep on Marius’s shoulder, much to Cosette and Éponine’s amusement, and Jehan is doodling absently on a spare piece of parchment.

“Where’s Grantaire?” Éponine asks after she’s finished laughing at the fact that Courfeyrac has started drooling on Marius’s collar.

Grantaire, at that moment, is jumping up out of bed. He swears profusely as he straightens his shirt and scrambles to grab his tie from the chair beside his bed. Enjolras watches the whole thing from his own bed, expression oddly serene as he flicks absently through the Daily Prophet.

“Don’t you have Astronomy?” He says after a minute of silence as Grantaire attempts to force his shoes onto his feet.

“Yes, and I’m going to be late. Christ, Sinistra’s going to kill me or at least try to dismember me or-”

“Perhaps, instead of ranting, you should go to your classroom? It’s almost midnight.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he runs out of their dormitory with his telescope and star chart hurriedly tucked under his arm.

He makes it to the classroom about a minute before Professor Sinistra does, and quickly sets up his telescope beside Combeferre’s and tries to regulate his breathing.

“Hey,” Combeferre says quietly, after the professor has finished telling them what to look for and how to position their telescopes, “are you feeling better?”

“A little.” Grantaire admits with a gentle shrug, “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get so upset.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.” Combeferre smiles softly and turns to look through his telescope.

“It’s not, really, I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, I just get like that sometimes. I’m sorry.” Grantaire replies, looking away from him and messily jotting down a few notes. He doesn’t notice Combeferre pull back from his telescope to look at him with fond eyes.

“Don’t be.” The taller boy reaches over and squeezes his arm. Grantaire stares at him, and Combeferre’s smile is soft and gentle, but bright nonetheless. One corner of Grantaire’s mouth quirks up into the slightest hint of a smile, and if his cheeks flush pink, he’ll blame the cold.

 

It’s a week and a half later that Grantaire finds himself in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, freezing his backside off. The only upside he can find to the situation is that he’s with Combeferre, and that there’s every possibility Courfeyrac might fall off his broom. He huddles deeper into his cloak, and when Joly produces a flask full of hot cocoa, he gratefully accepts it. Feuilly is on Joly’s other side, complaining to Bahorel about how Hufflepuff should be an easy win but something is guaranteed to go wrong. The Slytherin boy just laughs at him.

“I’m torn.” Marius whines from his position beside Combeferre. Both Combeferre and Grantaire turn to raise their eyebrows at him.

“Go on.”

“Well, I’m in Hufflepuff, right, so I should support us,” Marius starts, gesticulating hopelessly, “but my girlfriend’s the Ravenclaw Seeker, and shouldn’t I be supporting her?”

Combeferre stares at him for a moment, before turning to Grantaire.

“He’s a lost cause.”

“You’ve just worked that out?”

Combeferre laughs, and Madam Hooch whistles to announce the entry of both teams. Combeferre, Joly and Feuilly cheer wildly as Jehan and Cosette fly onto the pitch surrounded by their teammates. Jehan is spinning his bat around in his hand with surprising ease considering he’s only been playing for two years, and Cosette appears quietly smug as Courfeyrac takes up his position across from her.

Just under two hours later, Cosette catches the Snitch and comes flying victoriously past them, her fist raised above her head. Jehan flies over to where Courfeyrac is pouting near the Hufflepuff goal hoops and ruffles his hair affectionately.

Grantaire finds himself suddenly squashed into a Ravenclaw group hug, but his head rests against the junction of Combeferre’s neck and shoulder and he realizes he doesn’t mind too much. They eventually separate, and Grantaire tries not to notice the flush on Combeferre’s cheeks.

They spend twenty minutes gloating at Courfeyrac, who eventually retreats to Marius and Bossuet to lick his wounds and complain, before they start walking back up to the castle. Joly waits with Bossuet, and Marius hangs around to congratulate Cosette again now that Courfeyrac has finally shut up.

They’re a few feet behind Bahorel and Feuilly when Combeferre notices that Grantaire is shivering. He immediately stops to unwrap his scarf from his neck and hand it to Grantaire. The shorter boy frowns at him.

“You’re cold.” Combeferre states dumbly, holding his scarf out again. “Here.”

Grantaire stares, and he hesitates for a moment before he reaches over and takes it.

“Thanks.” He says quietly, after a moment of silence while he twines the woolen fabric around his neck. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Combeferre admits with an airy half-smile, barely more than a twist of his lips. Grantaire’s cheeks turn pink again, and he looks out towards the forest to hide his face. Combeferre looks at him and considers reaching out to hold his hand, but thinks better of it when he’s a centimeter away from sliding their fingers together.

Éponine all but shrieks when she sees the scarf around his neck.

“Whose is that? Have you got a boyfriend you haven’t told me about? Grantaire!” She slaps him playfully on the arm. Mercifully, Combeferre had left almost immediately after they’d got back to the castle -Enjolras needed help planning their next rally in Hogsmeade, or something- so he isn’t around to hear.

“It’s Combeferre’s. He lent me it, I was cold at Quidditch.” Grantaire explains, carefully dodging her questions. She tugs at his sleeve again.

“And? Is that it?”

“Yes.” Grantaire replies, almost snappily.

“So you’re not-”

“ _No_.” Grantaire rubs his hand over his face. “Christ, ‘Ponine, we’re not. We’re just friends. He wouldn’t want anything like that.”

Éponine gapes at him, her eyes incredulous.

“And you’d know that?”

“I can make an educated guess.”

Éponine groans and ushers him into the Great Hall, forcing him into a seat a few feet away from some second years playing Exploding Snap.

“’Taire, I love you, but you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever asked him?”

“Well, no, but I don’t need to, I know he’s not interested. Why would he be?”

“Do you remember that Potions lesson we had a few weeks ago now, on Amortentia?”

“Of course I do. My memory isn’t _that_ bad.”

“Well, I had Charms with him a few hours after, and he sits next to me. He seemed a little off, so I asked what was wrong.” At this, she grins, happy and almost catlike in a way. “And he told me. ‘Cause, you know, Amortentia obviously smells like the stuff you’re attracted to, right? And he smelt something he didn’t expect to.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at her, but she can easily see the genuine curiosity in his eyes.

“So I asked him, right, and it was all really boring -books and rain, for Christ’s sake- until he told me what the last thing was.” Her smirk grows even smugger at this, and Grantaire keeps his eyes fixed on hers.

“And?”

“Paint.” Her grin becomes a smirk. “But not just any old paint. Oil paint. _Your_ oil paint.”

Grantaire’s breath sticks in his throat, and Éponine raises an eyebrow at him.

“He didn’t seem too bothered by it, to be honest. Bit shocked, but not upset. He said he thinks he must’ve felt this way for a while in the back of his mind, but never acknowledged it. He seemed… Happy, honestly. Okay with it. Like he’d already come to terms with it.”

Grantaire finally looks away from her to play with the end of the scarf around his neck, twisting his fingers around blue and bronze fabric. Éponine surveys him with a thoughtful expression on her face, and reaches over the table to take hold of his hand.

“Just… Just trust me on this, alright? He likes you. And if you like him, you’ve got nothing to lose.” She squeezes his hand and he looks back across at her through his hair. “Just let whatever’s going to happen, happen. Just this once.”

He studies her face for a long moment, before he nods minutely and ducks his head to hide the blush on his cheeks.

 

He gives Combeferre his scarf back a few days later, at their afternoon Astronomy class. Professor Sinistra is, for the most part, helping people fill out star charts and research the moons of Jupiter, so she doesn’t notice Combeferre and Grantaire sitting at the back of the room talking.

“Here.” He slides the fabric across the table to the Ravenclaw boy, and Combeferre looks up from his parchment. “I meant to give you it back sooner, but we’ve both been a little busy.”

“It’s okay.” Combeferre smiles, moving the scarf into his lap. “Oh, I think Feuilly was looking for you earlier. He mentioned needing to talk to you at breakfast.”

“Oh, okay.” Grantaire replies, looking back to his own work and firmly away from Combeferre’s face. “I’ll find him tonight.”

Grantaire starts on labeling his star chart, and so doesn’t notice the way Combeferre watches him with affectionate eyes.

After their class lets out, Grantaire finds Feuilly in the Clock Tower Courtyard, where the older student is perched on the edge of the fountain reading a book about flesh-eating trees.

“Combeferre said you wanted to talk to me?” Grantaire says, coming to a stop in front of the other boy. Feuilly looks up, snaps his book closed and nods.

“Yeah.” He gets to his feet and tucks his book under his arm. “Just –not here. It’s a little busy.”

“Walk?” Grantaire replies with a nod towards the bridge. “It’ll be quieter out towards the grounds. It’s snowy.”

Feuilly nods, and they walk out to the Stone Circle. No one’s around, and Feuilly sits on the steps at the end of the bridge. Grantaire watches him for a moment, before deciding to sit down beside him. He rests his books on his knees and regards Feuilly with a curious expression.

“Bahorel asked me to go home with him for Christmas.” Feuilly admits quietly, after a minute of comfortable silence.

“And?”

“I said yes.” Feuilly replies in a soft voice. “He wants me to meet his parents.”

“Ooh.” Grantaire elbows him playfully. “Sounds serious.”

“I don’t know. We’ve been out a few times, just to the Hog’s Head or the Three Broomsticks and it’s been great. Really great, actually. This just feels like a big step.” Feuilly continues, running a hand through his already messy hair. “And I don’t want to leave you here on your own.”

“I’ll be fine. Éponine’s staying too.” Grantaire replies. “And seriously, put yourself first sometimes. You deserve to.”

He reaches over and squeezes Feuilly’s arm. The older boy looks at him and smiles fondly, and Grantaire smiles back.

“Did you talk to Feuilly?” Combeferre asks that night, when they’ve all congregated in the Room of Requirement. There’s no meeting tonight, but everyone has ended up here anyway, and they’ve broken off into study groups to battle their way through end of term assignments.

“Yeah. He’s going home with Bahorel this Christmas.” At this, they both look over at the two seventh years. They’re sitting together in the corner of the room, underneath the disproportionately large Christmas tree Jehan had convinced Enjolras to put up, and they’re musing over their Alchemy homework. Their shoulders are pressed together and Bahorel is smiling bigger than either of them have ever seen him.

“I’m happy for them.” Combeferre says after a moment of silence. There’s something unsaid in his voice, and Grantaire looks up at him and studies his face for a brief moment. He’s smiling almost wistfully, not quite reaching his eyes, and Grantaire thinks he looks beautiful.

Which is new.

He hasn’t described anyone as beautiful since his ill-fated and short-lived crush on Enjolras in their second and third years, so it comes as something of a surprise to him. He looks at Combeferre again, takes in the sandy hair that still falls in his eyes despite his glasses, the easy smile on his face and the soft pink tinge to his cheeks.

Éponine shoots him a knowing look from across the room, where she’s gossiping about Divination with Musichetta and Jehan. Grantaire just glares at her.

 

It’s a week before the Christmas holidays when everything finally snaps into place. It’s been snowing heavily for the past three days, and Grantaire elects to use his free period after Defence Against the Dark Arts to sit outside the Owlery with his sketchbook and draw. He’s wrapped up in two cloaks, a scarf, and a rather fetching pair of earmuffs, but he’s still a little cold, so when Combeferre appears half an hour later, he’s shivering.

“You’re ridiculous.” The Ravenclaw states with a small, warm laugh.

“I am no such thing.” Grantaire huffs indignantly, but he fumbles with the pencil in his hand as if to prove Combeferre’s point exactly. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be in History of Magic?”

“Professor Binns was asleep. None of us fancied waking him up, except Enjolras, but Joly and Jehan dragged him out before he had chance.” Combeferre dusts the snow away from the bench where Grantaire is sitting and perches down next to him.

“You little rebels.” Grantaire smirks playfully. “I still can’t believe you lot chose to take that subject. It’s the dullest thing about this school. I don’t think I managed to stay awake for a single lesson.”

“Professor Binns is brilliant. His teaching style is a little lacking, but you can’t have everything.” Combeferre laughs and presses his leg against Grantaire’s. Grantaire starts suddenly, and snaps his sketchbook closed and tucks his pencil into his robes.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Combeferre continues softly. Grantaire turns to look at him, and Combeferre is a lot closer than he’d expected him to be. He exhales slowly, his breath clouding and mixing with Combeferre’s as they stare at each other.

In the end, he’s not entirely sure who kisses who first, only that they’re _kissing_ and Combeferre’s lips are softer than they have any right to be and he kisses like he talks, softly and gently refined and Grantaire falls a little bit in love with the way he slides his hand up to cup his cheek and how he smiles a little as he pulls away.

“Where did that come from?” Grantaire asks breathlessly, his cheeks pink and a delirious, happy smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.

Combeferre pulls further away and runs his hands self-consciously through his hair.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to –I thought I’d read the situation right but I’m guessing I haven’t? I’m sorry, I’ve made you uncomfortable now haven’t I, I’ll just go-”

He gets up, and Grantaire grabs the sleeve of his robes and pulls him back. Combeferre’s eyes are startled behind his glasses, but he sits back down anyway, and Grantaire smiles shyly at him.

“You read the situation right. I wanted to kiss you too.” Grantaire’s cheeks go pink, and he doesn’t try to hide his face like he normally would.

“Oh.” It’s Combeferre’s turn to blush and turn his head away, embarrassed.

“Try again?” Grantaire’s smile breaks into a grin and Combeferre laughs faintly, and kisses him instead of answering.

They end up being half an hour late to their Potions class, but they arrive holding hands, with snow in their hair and smiles on their faces. Combeferre’s glasses are fogged up and Grantaire plucks them from his face and wipes them clean on his robes.

Éponine turns to Courfeyrac and groans.

“They’ve barely been together five minutes and they’re already unbearable.”

“I agree.” He replies gravely, but the twist of his lips give him away. “Enjolras, make them stop.”

The three of them turn in time to see Grantaire sliding Combeferre’s glasses back onto his face, and Combeferre stoops down to kiss him on the nose.

Éponine rests her head on the table in defeat.

Jehan finds out later, over dinner, when he spots their linked hands under the table. He immediately starts writing a sonnet in their honor, or so he says, and announces it’ll be their Christmas present when he’s finished it. 

Grantaire laughs, and Combeferre thinks it’s the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard. Jehan plucks out his camera -an old Polaroid model his parents had given him when he started at Hogwarts to ‘record his adventures’- and snaps a photograph of them both.

 

When everyone comes back from their Christmas holidays, Grantaire and Éponine are waiting for them at Hogsmeade station, huddled together in an effort to keep warm in the crisp January cold.

Combeferre seeks Grantaire out immediately, and kisses him quickly on the lips and then on the cheek.

“Hi.” He says with a soft, happy smile.

Grantaire grins and he’s practically radiant against the snow. Combeferre tells him as much, and Grantaire just _has_ to kiss him then.

So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://cursed-ornot.tumblr.com)!


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